Devil Dog to Guardian Angel
by anonymous skrub
Summary: United States Marine Corps. FORECON. 1st Battalion. Charlie Company. 3rd Platoon. LCPL Maria Hill. SHIELD. Avengers Initiative. Deputy Director Maria Hill. Invader. Protector. Attacker. Defender. Sword. Shield. Devil Dog. Guardian Angel. "Marines never die. They just rearm in Hell."
1. Chapter 1

**Kinda bored so I'm making a weird Maria Hill fic. Welp.**

 **[Fallujah, Iraq]**

 **[24 November, 2004]**

 **[USMC First Recon Battalion]**

"HILL, LIGHT THOSE FUCKERS UP!"

Maria Hill- lance corporal, American, Recon Marine; this is what she was trained for. She squeezed the butterfly trigger of her Humvee's mounted M2 .50 machine gun, and actually shook as she fired off each round.

Bullets whizzed and cracked overhead, to her side, on the Humvee's shields- everywhere. Don't even get her started on the RPGs. Speaking of…

"ARR-PEE-GEE!" yelled Corporal Tim Stevens, emphasizing each syllable. Said explosive warhead flew by and hit the second Humvee in the convoy, effectively blocking the road. Hill cursed, moving her machine gun onto an enemy machine gun nest on a three story house. She let loose about 75 rounds, each one tearing the wall apart.

Several explosions rocked the building as Staff Sergeant David Hernandez made short work of the building with his MK-19 from behind Maria. Each 40mm grenade impacted in a weak spot, and if it didn't, made weak spots. The whole face of the building collapsed.

"HILL, WATCH OUT, ONE O'CLOCK!" shouted Sergeant Victor Cheryno, firing his M4 carbine from the driver seat of their vehicle. She swiveled the turret towards that direction, seeing two technicals, and about 7 foot soldiers. She took aim, breathed, and squeezed…

And nothing happened.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" she swore, racking the bolt, trying to get her gun working again. She looked up and saw and RPG heading right for her. Her eyes widened as she literally fell down, watching it sail overhead. She grabbed her M16A3, and fired that from the turret instead.

"CHERNYO, FORM A PERIMETER!" hollered Captain John Fielding. Cheryno reloaded his M4, and then moved his Humvee into a position of the 3 vehicle wall. "Hill, dismount and clear this fucking house!" he called back. "Aye, Sarge!" she barked, climbing out of the Humvee, over the lap of Private Daisy Moore.

The poor kid was still in shock, or so Hill thought. When she got out, her hand felt warm. She looked at it, seeing it covered in blood. She whirled around, looking at Moore while screaming, "CORPSMAN!"

Moore had a nickel-sized hole in her thigh, just from what Hill could see. "C'mon Moore, stay with me, Marine," she muttered, wrapping a tourniquet around her upper thigh. Daisy turned to her, starting to say something when a gunman fired from the window above them.

Hill fell backwards, crawling away. She took aim from the ground and fired off 13 rounds. A body fell out with an old AK74 next to it. She turned back to Moore and fought the urge to vomit.

The bullets had shredded her leg to bone and flesh, continuing up her body until it her collarbone, where her vest ended. Her head was a mess of red and grey and blonde and white, blood and brains and skull pieces and her hair all over the rear of the Humvee.

"You ca- HOLY SHIT!" cried out corpsman, Navy SEAL, and Petty Officer First Class Frank Angelo. His M4A1 hung used and abused by its sling, the barrel still slightly burning. Hill ignored him, getting back up and stacking with other Marines on the building. She crouched under a window, firing at rooftop shooters across the street.

She vaguely heard a Marine counting down, before an R870 blew the door off its hinges. Marines surged in, one saying, "Cle-." Before he finished, as Hill got to the doorframe, an RPG was fired from the staircase, and it tore apart several Marines. The others fell to crossfire of strategically placed machine guns. Arms and legs and heads and hands all came off, falling this way or that. One Marine tossed a grenade, only to have it bounce back at him and blow him up.

Maria charged in, eliminating one machine gunner, tossing a frag at the other, before turning.

Straight into the face of a suicide bomber.

A fucking kid.

Probably 10 years old.

A fucking KID!

He screamed, "ALLAHU AKBAR!" once, pulling the string on his vest. Hill barely had time to cry out before the explosion blew her straight out of the house. Little pricks of pain sprouted all over her chest, legs, and face. She saw Angelo stand over her, mouthing words- probably screaming- but heard nothing.

Beyond him, she saw Marines running into the house to escape the kill zone. Her Humvee sat burning, ammunition inside cooking off as the flames licked the boxes. One lay on its side, Marines still strapped to their seats lying dead inside.

Doc A pulled her into the house, and set her up on a table. A dozen other Marines lie dead or dying besides her. Darkness caused vision to swim and falter. She felt sick.

Next to Maria was Captain Fielding, yelling into a radio. Bullets cracked and blew holes in the house. As Maria's consciousness finally gave way, her hearing returned.

" **THIS IS CHARLIE 3, WHERE THE HELL IS MY MEDEVAC?!** "

" _No medevac available at this time, Charlie 3. You're on your own._ "

"DAMMIT!" Fielding swore, turning back to his shattered platoon.

"MARINES, HOLD THE LINE!"

" _ **OORAH!**_ "

On that final battle cry, Maria fainted.

 **[Line Break]**

" _And when I get Heaven,_

 _Saint Peter's gonna sa-a-a-a-y_

' _How'd you make your living?_

 _How'd you earn your pa-a-a-a-a-y?'_

 _I will reply with my kni-i-i-i-i-i-fe,_

' _Shut up, bitch! I'm gonna take your li-i-i-i-i-i-fe!'_ "

CWO4 Christopher Anderson was brushing dust off his cot when the call came in.

" **All pilots, code red: First Recon Charlie 3 is pinned down in Fallujah's Red Zone. Scramble all available aircraft. Coordinates will be given upon takeoff.** "

He was strapping in the peter pilot seat within five minutes. His pilot and aircraft commander, 2LT Sarah DeLong, flew in a moment later. Their crew chiefs, Gunnery Sergeant Brock Muter and Staff Sergeant Raymundo Crosby, manned the two M60 machine guns that were the UH-1Y's defense and offense.

Air Force Pararescue Jumper Technical Sergeant Yohan Dougal hopped aboard, his medkit prepped and ready. As the bird lifted off the ground with utter silence, Sarah broke it first.

"ATC, this is Spartan 2-1, lifting off in response to medevac request. Heading into the Red Zone, over," she reported crisply. ATC acknowledged, and said, "Message from repair crews and HIGHCOM: don't get too many holes. Good hunting, Spartan 2-1."

Sarah nudged the throttle up and angled the helicopter downwards a tad, and they flew into the shitstorm called "Operation Phantom Fury".

"Lock and load, boys," Anderson said, checking that his MP5K was loaded under his legs. "Hey Muter, how many you think you'll get today?" asked Raymundo. "More than you, smartass," Muter growled back.

Dougal chuckled from his "seat". In actuality, he was sitting in the open door with his legs against the landing gear, holding on only through the hole in his ass.

Sarah cracked a smile before chipping in, "Boys, cut the chatter. Make sure we don't ge-." She never finished that sentence. Below them, an enemy AA team had been waiting. When they reached the right spot, they achieved their goal.

A technical with mortar sat right beneath them. When they fired, the shell went straight up. Straight into Spartan 2-1.

The crew didn't even feel it as the shell tore them and their helo to shreds. Only a few blocks away, the Recon Marines of Charlie 3 were fighting for their lives.

And they were losing. Badly.

" _And when I get Hell,_

 _Satan's gonna sa-a-a-a-a-y,_

' _How'd you make your living?_

 _How'd you earn your pa-a-a-a-a-y?'_

 _I will shove my rifle right in his face,_

' _I was a Recon Marine. I'm taking over this place!'_ "


	2. A Whole New World:Bloody, Dark, and Ugly

Coming out of unconsciousness was never fun. Especially not while you're a U.S. Marine in a firefight. And losing. Did I mention it's not fun?

The first thing Maria saw waking up was Captain Fielding yelling into a radio, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. Angelo stood over her, shining a light in her eye. She swatted at his hand, her hearing returning. The roar of gunfire and deafening explosions was a cold comfort.

"Y'okay, Hill?!" Angelo screamed, letting her sit up. He passed her her rifle and her helmet. Slipping on the protective gear and slinging her rifle, checking that her chamber was clear, and slamming a magazine home, she nodded.

Fielding came over, grim-faced. "I ain't gonna lie," he said, "but this shit is bad. We're nowhere near the objective and our gunship just got shot down. HQ won't send us anymore birds, so short of bringing in danger close, we're fucked."

Maria swallowed. Danger close was ordnance within 600 meters of a friendly position. Last she checked, there wasn't more than 30 between them and the enemy outside. On cue, an explosion upstairs sent dust and small bits of rubble down.

"Where do you need me, sir?" she asked, steeling herself. If she was gonna go down, it was gonna be a helluva death.

Fielding looked down for a split second, then met her eyes again. He handed her a rucksack. Confused, she peered inside and paled. Inside the sack was about 10 lbs of C4.

She looked up again, shaking her head. "No," she mumbled, "no!" Hill was furious at this point, and emotional, tears pouring from her eyes. "Sir, you _cannot_ be suggesting what I think you are!" she yelled. Another RPG slammed into the pitiful structure the Marines were taking shelter in, and a bloody mangled corpse slid next to them. _Hopkins_ , she thought randomly.

Fielding looked like he aged a hundred years. "Corporal, someone needs to take out that supply cache, and if we could call down artillery on it, I would in a heartbeat and get the fuck out of Dodge. Seeing as I can't, you," he said, gesturing at the bag in her hands, "have to complete the mission."

Maria was hysterical- this was her _family_. "I can't," she sobbed, "I can't leave you behind to get slaughtered and see your dead bodies paraded around some damn mosque and-" She was abruptly cut off. "Maria, please," Fielding begged, "just do it so I know one of us made it out of this clusterfuck alive."

She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and put on her Hardass Hill face. "Aye, sir," she growled, grabbing the M16A3 she had been "assigned"- otherwise called "won from a cocky SEAL at the FOB"- and slinging the new ruck. "On your go," she said, emotionless.

Fielding stared, and grasped her shoulder. "Kill all of those motherfuckers, Marine," he said, before addressing what remained of his platoon.

"ALRIGHT CHARLIE 3, WE GOTTA PUT DOWN EVERYTHING WE'VE GOT! CEASE FIRE UNTIL MY MARK!" he barked. Marines huddled under whatever cover was left, green tracers slamming into walls and what little furniture there was.

Maria took a position near the back door, as Angelo held the door knob. She waited for the command that would likely end her time with Charlie 3.

" _ **OPEN FIRE!"**_ bellowed Fielding, and the chattering of assault rifles and several M249s on full cylic deafened her. Angelo swung the door open, blasting the two insurgents hiding behind it. He turned, and yelled, "RUN!"

Maria ran. Ran and ran. Bullets kicked up dirt and dust and more than once tore through her uniform, barely missing her. When she stopped running, she was at least two miles away from her platoon and only a few blocks from her objective.

She proceeded cautiously, rifle raised, scanning in a slow 360. She gently opened a door and saw a young mother shielding her children. They cowered, and one looked on the verge of tears. She raised a finger to her mouth, and carefully placed down several candy bars she had saved from her MREs.

The children glanced at them curiously, as the mother closed her eyes and winced. Turning quickly, Maria spotted a soldier clad in all black tactical gear. What struck her the most was the weird skull octopus patch on his arm. And the glowing blue gun- that was fairly strange.

Regardless, she put three rounds into his face mask, and his grey brain matter splattered the wall behind him. The kids screamed, and Maria abandoned all semblence of stealth, moving fast and taking long strides to clear the house.

Finding nothing in it, she was about to head outside when she almost tripped. At first, she thought the rug was loose, but then she noticed to abnormal bulge. Throwing the rug away, she revealed an old wooden trapdoor.

"What the hell?" she whispered, gazing at it. Suddenly, shadows in the windows flashed against the wall, and she dropped to a knee while turning, ready to unload her rifle into another target.

"Check, check- she's a Marine," she heard a man whisper. She saw a man walk out in a business suit with a vest on, slightly balding, and holding his hands up.

"Corporal," he said, "we don't want to fight. We'r-" he began, but was cut off when Maria barked, "Turn around slowly!"

He complied, and showed her his back. She knew it. She knew that octopus-skull patch was familiar, knew that weapon looked like ones she'd seen before. And she definitely knew that eagle on the man's vest.

"Corporal Hill, we're ag-" he tried again, only to be cut off, again. "Face me," she commanded, lowering her rifle. She walked out, and saw a full squad lined up and taking positions outside.

"You're Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said, staring at him. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, as Hill walked over to the body. "This guy is Hydra," she muttered, astounding him further. And finally, she walked to the trapdoor.

"And this isn't an al-Qaeda weapons cache, is it?" she asked, prodding it. He nodded again.

Maria took a long sigh, finally staring him in the eyes.

"Corporal Maria Hill, First Recon Battalion, First Marines, reporting, sir," she said, slinging her rifle and rendering a hand salute. He returned it, crisp as she was.

"Formerly Captain Phil Coulson, United States Army Special Forces, ODA 392 CO, now Agent Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D. Operations division, level 4 Agent," he replied, lowering his salute, raising an eyebrow at Maria's smirk.

"Thought you looked a bit flabby; guess you still Aren't Ready for Marines Yet," she cheekily replied, using the acronym nickname taken from ARMY. Coulson rolled his eyes, and gestured his team inside.

"Well, corporal, guess you gonna have to show us how to do it, then," he replied, opening the trapdoor as another agent secured a rope to a column in the house and lowered it.

"Oorah, sir," she murmured, glancing to the place where her platoon was more likely than not dead. Still, she grabbed the rope and said, "In first, out last." Then she dropped into a whole new world.


End file.
